Through the Looking Glass
by Joanna May
Summary: Narcissa Black never feared the dark as a child.


The storm shimmers in the looking glass as the woman lays down her silver backed hairbrush. A quick shake of the head loosens the pins and sends the golden tresses cascading down her narrow back. She stops still for a second, eyes narrowed, searching for flaws in her appearance. Satisfied there are none, a smile parts her pale lips and she is content to continue staring.

A bolt of lightning darts across the glass, illuminating her face. In such a light, a little of the beauty fades. Something in her eyes doesn't quite look right, the curve of her lips no longer looks so pleasant. It's true that she is still a beautiful woman, but now something else lingers in her.

Light, Narcissa muses, is both friend and foe. Under the gentle, welcoming candlelight her friends so adore, she herself can be gentle and welcoming. It is the stark, sudden lightning bolts that break the illusion. It always has been. Ever since she was a child. Narcissa Black never feared the dark as a child.

No, Miss Black feared the light.

The youngest of the infamous Black sisters, Narcissa had been used to the shadows. With someone like Bellatrix around, where else would one stand? Bellatrix was the life and soul of the party. The one who charmed everyone so well. The one that men and women alike adored and envied in equal measures.

And while Bellatrix thrived on the golden light of attention, Narcissa was happy to operate from the shadows. No one considered her a threat. Young Cissa, so innocent. The golden child, who didn't even dare answer back to her mother.

What had they known? While everyone had been so busy fawning over Bellatrix, they hadn't noticed that Narcissa was turning the same. While their parents praised their eldest daughter for following their traditions and beliefs through so devoutly, they hadn't noticed Narcissa's tricks in the distance. For Narcissa held the same beliefs, followed the same old traditions. Only Narcissa had the subtlety that Bellatrix lacked.

Oh, how she had shuddered when she had heard of Bellatrix's capture and imprisonment. Then again, she was hardly surprised. Bellatrix had never learned the art of discretion. She didn't work as Narcissa did, veiled and protected by the cover of her husband and child. Narcissa was the perfect Pureblood wife and mother. Her sister was seen as a disgrace. Bellatrix's actions, society whispered, were clearly those of the deluded. Where could such a nice girl have gone wrong?

Oh, their husbands and sons were all involved, of course. It was suitable work for a man. The Pureblood men, after all, had always upheld their honour. For a woman to do the same, however, was unforgivable. A woman's place was in the home. Raise the children and not your voice, girl. That's what they had been drumming into Narcissa since she had been old enough to understand.

And Narcissa Malfoy never raised her voice. Not when whispers were so effective.

It amazed her sometimes. How they had never noticed that Narcissa was the same as her sister. After all, didn't the same blood run through their veins? Surely they should have suspected that innocent Cissa would harbour the same desires and bloodlust? That Cissa found the mudbloods just as vile and disgusting as Bellatrix? That Cissa was the Dark Lord's most trusted servant?

Yet they hadn't noticed. Not even Bellatrix.

The smile that lit the pale features now was far warmer. A true smile that reached those usually impassive, grey eyes. On anyone else, it could have been said that perhaps this was a smirk. Yet a woman of Narcissa's status never lowered herself to smirk. No, this was a genuine smile, the sort Narcissa's various acquaintances were accustomed to. A smile so bright and beautiful it was matched only by the rings on her fingers and jewels around her throat.

She heard her husband pad into the room, and come up behind her. Scooping his wife's hair from her neck, and planting a kiss in its place, he rested his head on her shoulder and looked into the mirror as well. She hadn't even flinched, he noticed.

"The world is still deceived with ornament" He whispered, kissing her again.


End file.
